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Mother’s day is vastly approaching, and this Mother’s Day, I wanted to make sure that the woman who literally had her entrails removed and placed on a metal dolly to birth me understands just how much I value the person that she was and the person that she is now. I hope it inspires you all to show your mothers a little bit of extra love and gratitude.
My mother wasn’t perfect, as none of them are. She had a lot of obstacles she had to overcome in order to be the parent that she was, obstacles that I was too young to understand, and many I didn’t know about until much later. That was the dynamic of our family for a long time: we didn’t talk about our problems, nothing serious anyway. It was weakness for my mother to break down and say: I’ve been hurt by somebody that I trusted. Subsequently, my mother had to raise four children through a long battle with mental illness that was never properly treated.
Our lives didn't start out easy. There were trials in our family, and for a long period of my childhood, we were poor. There were days that we would have to stay home from school because we had no food to eat, and if we sat without a lunch - well, there was no program to feed us, and that meant that CAS may begin to question our living situation. Parents are supposed to feed their children after all, and my mother would do everything she could to make sure that by the end of the night, there was SOMETHING to eat, even if that meant selling her own belongings.
It might sound irresponsible or insane to you that this was a frequent occurrence, but my mother had four children to raise on top of college classes, and two of us weren't even intentional births. Her husband was only just starting his career, so providing for such a large family wasn't easy for him either. What made it all worse was that all of her children had ailments of some sort, from serious behavioral issues and so on. I was definitely one of the worst: I was born with debilitating anxiety, later diagnosed as GA disorder and OCD, and it made me a difficult child to say the least. Not in the manner of tantrums, or not doing as I was told, but I needed constant care, constant reassurance, and constant emotional support. From the time I was small, I depended on her not only to fulfill my basic needs, but to keep me from going completely insane myself. From ritualistic behaviors that caused me a lot of distress, to overwhelming panic attacks – she was there to try and manage it all, over top of her own untreated mental health issues. Mental health issues she desperately tried to hide from us.
They weren’t as invisible as she tried to make them. This woman, who I saw as the greatest protector, was wounded beyond what my young mind could comprehend. I didn't know what to make of it when I would find her crying over the toilet, sick from a combination of medications that were supposed to help her. A last resort to battle her demons I suppose. I would just stand there and stare - I didn’t know how to help her because I didn't even understand what was wrong. I didn't know why my mom would sometimes cry for what seemed like no reason at all. She would never tell me, she’d simply promise me it was okay, and push the door closed so I wouldn’t have to see her in such a way. She still managed to come out of it smiling, ready to once again care for all of her children the best she was able to.
Time went on and we had our falling outs from time to time, there were things I didn’t always agree with and things that wish I hadn’t heard or seen. Even with all of the bad times, the disagreements and our relationship cracking, my mother never stopped me from trying to seek a better life. She depended on me heavily, as I ironically was the only child who would lend a hand to manage the chaos … and even then, when I felt overwhelmed and unable to handle it any longer, she allowed me to leave, even though I was her only life line in a chaotic and once toxic household.
Our relationship for a time fell apart because of our inability to express feelings in a way that was healthy and normal; my mother was always taught to be silenced, and I desperately wanted a voice. She didn’t know how to hear me then, but after some time, some mending, and a lot of love, the broken woman who once struggled to feed her children found herself in a booming career she fought to achieve from the bottom to the top … and even found it in herself to push past her long-learned silence and begin to mend what was broken. Not just between us, but within herself. Truly finding peace and happiness with her family and within her own soul, bringing light back into her eyes that I only saw when she witnessed the happiness of her children.
My mom is a hero; she fought through trials that I would never detail for her discretion, but they were so much bigger than anybody could have imagined for a successful business woman with a kind demeanor. My mom taught me strength in femininity, perseverance in hopelessness, and to have pride in yourself no matter what your status is. She was the one who taught me to be my own God, to decide what was right for me by allowing myself to feel if it was or not, in my heart and in my soul. She let me be an individual, even if she did question my oddness at times; she never stepped in to force me to be somebody that I wasn’t.
It wasn’t always easy, hell it wasn’t always healthy but she made it and we all did because of her. You can hate your circumstances and wish all you want that your parents were better or perfect, but if my mom wasn’t exactly who she was when she had me, I never would have learned to fight my own mental illnesses with such ferocity. I never would have found the strength in my person that I have now. I owe her a lot for that.
I hope you all enjoyed this drabble, I know it’s not normally the kind of stuff that I write but I really wanted to do it for my mom, because she deserves a fucking metal in my opinion for the shit she went through. She still came out on top: from wounded woman from a poor family to strong business woman making six figures. I admire her a lot, that much I can tell you.
As always G@Gers TGIF, and tell your moms what bad asses they are this Mother’s Day.
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